The deep, forbidden music they'd been longing for
by beverlymaldoran
Summary: For River and the Doctor, adventures are par for the course, but sometimes it can be pretty exhausting. Songfic.


**AN: Songfic! Unlikely that you know the song (though awesome if you do), so I'd suggest checking it out. It's easy to find on youtube: Rene and Georgette Magritte with Their Dog after the War by Paul Simon. Enjoy!**

**~Enormous thanks to Snow Ashes for amazing beta-ing!~**

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><p>As soon as the TARDIS doors slammed behind them, River trudged towards the stairs. In sharp contrast to this, the Doctor bounded over to the console and danced around it, launching them into the vortex and letting out a long whistling breath in exhilarated relief at their narrow escape. River smiled to herself at the sight, but above the smile her eyes were weary.<p>

River was tired. She'd been with the Doctor for a few days now, and between general adventuring, more... _private _adventures in the confines of the TARDIS, and his needing very little sleep, she hadn't slept much at all. On top of that, earlier today the Doctor had remembered that he had a standing invitation to a ball at the home of a wealthy ambassador in the 32nd century. He'd been saving the invitation for a special evening and had decided that today would be special enough. Long and all-too-common story short, they'd arrived a day late dressed in their finest. While they had missed the party, they _had_ managed to arrive just in time to stop an assassination attempt, get mistaken for the assassins, and get chased back to the TARDIS by trigger-happy law enforcement.

The plasma holes in the skirt of River's dress were still smoking as she gingerly sat herself down on the stairs. She massaged her left side where she'd bumped into a dresser as she'd run out of the mansion. She waved away the Doctor's concerned glance as she pressed her fingers lightly against the quickly-forming bruise. She bent over to remove her shoes, but her fingers were clumsy as she tried to untie the silken ribbons that affixed the heels to her ankles. She cursed in frustration and sighed, giving up for the time being. Propping her elbows on her knees, she rested her head in her hands and massaged her temples.

Long, slightly callused fingers slid under the ribbons, grazing her ankles as they did so. Such sudden contact would normally cause River to leap into action, even - _especially_ - when she was this tired. It had been a very, very long time since she'd been trained as an assassin, _his_ assassin, but she'd long ago decided that some habits, such as that one, were worth keeping. So she was still attuned to the sudden touch of skin against her own, still ready to pull away. But not from his hands. Never because of _his_ touch. At this point she knew it instantly, intimately. Even in complete darkness, amidst hundreds of other hands reaching out for her, she would know it. All the laws of electricity and magnetism that they both understood so well couldn't be used to explain that feeling – that _knowing_. Sometimes, as she lay beside him in their bed, she dared to think that perhaps she had known it so well even at the start, that perhaps that inexplicable knowledge was what had frightened her so much.

Returning her focus to the moment at hand, she felt the ribbons fall away, his nimble fingers quickly succeeding where hers had failed. Pulling off first the left shoe and then the right, he placed them carefully next to the bottom step.

Looking up at her from where he knelt at her feet, he absentmindedly ran a hand over her ankles where the ribbons had been just a moment before. During their flight, her hair had escaped the timorous hold of whatever clips she had used to tame it before departing for what should have been a relaxed evening at an elegant soirée. It now curled wildly about her face, except for where it was caught between her fingers as they rested against her head. Her dress was torn in a few places, fraying in others, and downright blasted-through in a few – he spared a moment to be grateful for the fact that none of the holes had counterparts in his wife's flesh. In short, she looked tired, disheveled, and utterly, astonishingly beautiful.

He stood up and slowly offered her a hand, stating "Dr. Song, I don't believe your husband had a chance to dance with you at the ball today."

"Not much dancing to be had," she snorted, "I do seem to recall quite a bit of running, though." She made no attempt to move from her perch upon the stairs.

"But a lovely lady such as yourself," he began before giving up the act. The hand offered out to her joined his other in gesturing wildly – and, no, it wasn't flailing, thank you very much, that would be quite undignified – as he continued. "Oh River," he pleaded, "just the one dance? It's just that I'm sorry and I'd like to make it up to you and you just, you're just, with your hair and, and well you're literally smoking, so I just thought - "

River interrupted him as she stood, "Shh, sweetie. I suppose these feet can manage the one dance. But only because I know how you love to dance, you nostalgic idiot." The comment was saved from sounding even slightly venomous by the fondness that crept into her voice as she said it. She really was trying not to smile, but oh - that man!

Brightening up, the Doctor dashed to the console and flipped a switch – River was fairly sure she could hear him whisper "hit it, Sexy" as he did so. Just before the music started, he returned to her and walked her away from the stairs a bit, stilling his restless hands as he placed them on her waist. As the gentle melody rose up around them, she wrapped her arms around his neck and he pulled her in closer, pressing their bodies together.

_Rene and Georgette Magritte__  
><em>_With their dog after the war__  
><em>_Returned to their hotel suite,__  
><em>_And they unlocked the door._

By now they were swaying softly from side to side as Paul Simon's voice washed over them.

_Easily losing their evening clothes,_  
><em>They dance by the light of the moon<em>  
><em>To the penguins, the moonglows,<em>  
><em>The orioles, and the five satins,<em>  
><em>The deep, forbidden music<em>  
><em>They'd been longing for.<em>

River turned her head sideways and leaned against the Doctor's chest, the beating of his hearts adding a familiar rhythm to the gentle pulse of the music around her. In response, he lowered his chin to the top of her head.

_Rene and Georgette Magritte_  
><em>With their dog after the war.<em>

They continued on in this way until the song came to a close, with the Doctor slowly supporting more of River's weight as she leaned more heavily into him. When the Doctor lifted his head, ready to thank River and bring her to bed to get the rest he could tell she needed, he noticed that she didn't move. Tilting over her slowly and carefully so as not to shift her head where it rested against his chest, he looked down at her face. He smiled warmly at what he saw – she had fallen asleep in the gentle rocking of his arms as they danced. When he scooped her up she started a bit, but he shushed her softly and received a sleepy nod in reply to his offer to take her to bed. After a day full of running and just a bit of dancing, the Doctor tucked his wife into bed and climbed in next to her.

_Side by side_  
><em>They fell asleep<em>  
><em>Decades gliding by like Indians<em>  
><em>Time is cheap<em>  
><em>When they wake up<em>  
><em>They will find<em>  
><em>All their personal belongings<em>  
><em>Have intertwined<em>.

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><p><strong>Thoughts? Tell me in a review!<strong>


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